In the storybook, we are introduced to an elf,
A mind to exact wrong on the fellow man;
I was twenty-three when I heard of him in the real world,
After entering the astral gate transporting me there.
For one of us are three of them,
More golden are their appearances.
My book lies but not so often,
My charismatic elf lives a long life,
He will be my friend for the remainder of the visit.
He will not exact wrong on fellow men.
Thus, the book is straightforwardly my own story.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem